by Binh Nguyen
My name is Nguyen Phuoc Binh, I am a refugee from Saigon, Vietnam. In 1980, at the age of seven, my father, older sister, and 26 other people escaped by boat from a communist regime for fear of being sent to a “Re-education Camp.” On the second day of our journey, we ran out of food and water. Our boat had a leaked, the motor died, and we floated aimlessly in the vast ocean. We took turns scooping water out of the boat to keep us from sinking.
By this time we had been without food and water for eight days and were facing a slow and certain death. We drank our own urine out of desperation to survive. As we drifted on the ocean, several ships passed us by but did not stop to rescue us. By this time my dad had accepted the fact that he may not last much longer. He instructed my older sister and I to eat his heart and liver when he died. The rest of his body parts would be offered to the rest of the people on the boat.
At the time I didn’t understand what my dad was saying nor was I able to comprehend the seriousness of the situation. I hadn’t had any food or water for days and my body was beginning to deteriorate. Our boat was beginning to take in a lot of water and the people stopped scooping water out of the boat as if they had given up. I still remembered my father succumbing to death as he laid in a pool of water and oil.
On the tenth day, I remembered the ocean was very calm and the sun was beginning to set. Everyone laid motionless either to save energy or they were too weak to move. From a distance we could see a ship. I didn’t think much of it because other ships hadn’t stopped for us. Nobody wanted to help us, however, this particular ship, the size of the length of two football fields circled our small boat. My older sister, she was nine years old at the time stood in front of the boat and waived a white shirt begging for help.
After some time the ship came closer, then paralleled next to our small boat and lowered the ladders. One by one we climbed in this gigantic Italian diesel ship. We were fed, showered, and clothed. At that moment I knew my father and everyone on the boat was going to live.
Shortly after being rescued, we were sent to a refugee camp in Palawaan, Philippines. We lived in bamboo huts and were giving small rations of food each day. Life was hard. I was always hungry. I often went with the adults into the jungle to steal fruits to eat or to trade for fish and rice with the locals. Although life was not easy, there were memorable moments like learning how to swim, learning to speak English, and seeing big, tall and white people for the first time. I was amazed at the color of their eyes and skin.
After two years in the refugee camp, we were sponsored to the United States by our relatives. I attended fourth grade and spoke very little English. I felt out of place at school. The kids and teachers spoke in languages I could not understand. I remembered crying a lot. At recess, I’d sit by myself in this playground feeling very alone. My father worked long hours so I was left alone most of the time. I began to make friends with Hispanic kids my age who also lived in the apartment complex.
I came home one day with an earring and my dad gave me a good whooping. I had gotten the earring because my friends were wearing them and I wanted to fit in. I thought they were cool since they all had their own bicycles. I didn’t have one.
Since that incident, the beatings became regular. My dad hits me with whatever he can reach for. It could be a plate or a cup. If I was lucky, I’d get to pick out my own stick to get hit with. From experience, I learned that smaller stick hurts more and it leaves a mean bruise. Instead I’d look for the biggest stick I could find.
As I got older, I was able to block and dodge some of his punches. Other times I’d run away from him while he chased me barefooted around the apartment complex. Some of the beatings I brought upon myself because I’d do anything for attention even if it’s negative attention.
At the age of ten I was stealing bicycles, breaking windows and destroying properties. My father was a single parent raising my sister and myself, while my mother and two younger brothers were left in Vietnam. I was always alone and had to figure things out on my own. I hung out with my peers most of the time and I was willing to participate in whatever criminal activities.
Although I was responsible for most of the beatings I received, there were also many that I didn’t deserve. I was beaten for spending five dollars playing video games. My father was very angry at me for “wasting money.” It confuses me because I often witnessed my father spent so much money drinking and gambling with his friends while I didn’t have new clothes to wear for school. When I didn’t want to go to work with him, he would beat me.
My father was a self-employed electrician. He would pick me up after school and took me straight to work with him. Most of the time I’d get home around 10 or 11pm. Usually I’d do my homework in the van.
I remember one night while going to work with my father I had fallen asleep and woke up in the middle of the night alone in the van. I went looking for my father and followed some people to an entrance. I saw a dark room with neon red lights and half naked women. I didn’t know then that it was a place for adult entertainment. Looking back, my father left me alone in the car at two o clock in the morning to be with women.
I soon came to realize how irresponsible my father was. I became distant and withdrawn from him. Sometimes he came home drunk, I’d hide in my room to avoid being picked on. I love my father, but I lived in fear, anger and sadness every day. I often compared my family to my friend’s family, who was giving him all the love and affection that I so desperately needed.
That made me sad. I felt lonely and neglected. I didn’t have anyone I felt comfortable enough to talk to. This made me question my self-worth. Am I not good enough? Why doesn’t my father love me? Why don’t I have a mother like everyone else? This made me resent my father even more and I did my best to stay away from him. Over time, I developed a belief that I had to take care of myself because there was no on to depend on.
Starting at the age of 12, I began to shoplift and steal clothes with kids my age. I found a lot similarities with these specific groups of kids. They were refugees like myself. They were poor, neglected, abandoned, and spoke broken English. Some were abused and we all came from broken homes. I could easily identify myself with these kids. I fit in perfectly. I began to rationalize my criminal behavior by reminding myself that since my dad won’t buy me clothes, I’m going to love my own problems. I don’t need him!
I further gave myself permission to act out when I am reminded of the time when my dad took the money I earned through selling newspapers. My father said that he’s been taking care of me so he’s entitled to my money. There was a time when my dad bork into my sister’s piggy bank and took all the coins she’d saved. This angered me and I used it as an excuse to steal to solve my problems without relying on my father.
Around the age of 14, I ran away from home. My father had a new family with another woman and I didn’t get along with my stepmother. I feel like she didn’t see me as a son. I didn’t feel the love and acceptance that I remembered receiving from my own mother. This angered me even more because another woman had taken my mother’s place. Where did I fit in?
The need for acceptance and belonging drove me to find it elsewhere other than home. I soon found that acceptance in my gang when they took me in, provided me with food, clothing and shelter. Eventually we started doing everything together like smoking crack cocaine, drinking alcohol, getting into fights, stealing cars, and committing burglaries. Living this lifestyle was exciting. It made up for the fear and sadness I felt at home. I was free from the verbal and physical abuse. After being arrested and sent to Juvenile Hall my father would come to pick me up and then he’d give me a good whooping when we got home. After the beating, he would check on my injuries and bruises and tells me he loves me. This is the only time I felt or received attention from him.
I remember a time when I saw my father use the camcorder that I stole from a previous burglary. I didn’t get punished for it. He seemed to like the camcorder and I was happy that he did. On another occasion, I saw my dad smuggle think sheets of gold in a pair of sandals and sent it to my mother in Vietnam. He explained that if the communists find the gold, they’d take it and my mother and brothers will go hungry. My father broke a lot of rules and unknowingly I learned these behaviors through him.
On one incident, we were chased by police officers because my father had an expired registration tags on his license plate. He refused to pay for the license plate stickers. Sometimes I would help him steal registration stickers from other cars to put on his license plate. My father did not approve of my criminal ways, yet he bends and breaks rules all the time as if it’s okay for hi to do it since he’s the parent. This confused me. I continued to steal cars, commit burglaries, and commit robberies. I was in and out of Juvenile Halls, The Boy’s Ranch, The County Jails, and up until I committed my life crime kidnapping for the purpose of robbery.
On April 9th, 1995, three of my peers and I invaded the safety of Ms. Julie O. and Mr. Tom S’s home at gun-point and robbed them of their possessions. I then tied up Mr. S. and kidnapped Ms. Julie O. at gunpoint to further rob her at the ATM machine. During the robbery, I remembered feeling very powerful and in control of the situation. It felt good because as a child I was always bullied which made me feel weak. So when I am armed with a gun I make people listen to me and do as I say.
In that moment I felt in charge and feared which compensate for the years of abuse and not having control as a child. As a result of my life crime, I was sent to Calipatria State Prison with a life sentence, plus 56 years. While in prison, I quickly adapted to the prison life.
Of all the stories I heard about prison I didn’t want to be the prey. “The strong survives. The weak dies.” That was my belief. I began to learn how to make knives, made prune, and sold drugs. I was also abusing drugs and alcohol. The drugs help me forget the daily stress in prison. It made me feel alive and powerful. I used drugs to man my shame and guilt. I was also very involved with prison politics to earn respect and show loyalty to my peers.
On the surface I was very vocal and hostile, but inside I was afraid and very insecure. I put up a tough front because I didn’t want to be picked on. Memories of being called, “Flat Face, Slanted Eyes,” or “Go back to your country,” triggered my anger and feelings of being victimized. I would protect myself from the shame at any cost, even if it meant hurting others to feel good about myself. Those beliefs led me to live a very unhealthy and destructive lifestyle.
In prison, I found comfort and acceptance in the same type of guys I felt I could identified with. They were Asians like myself with a lot of similarities. I was loyal to them and they were loyal to me. I was a life and there was no hope of ever getting out. I was ready and honored to be the “fall guy.” I was willing to stab anyone or remove people off the yard. I held on to knives and took the blame for drugs and prune because in those days I didn’t value myself or my freedom. I had very low self-worth so this was my way to gain respect and acceptance. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was repeating the same behaviors prior to my life of crime. As a result of my behaviors, I accumulated 17 Rules and Violations report.
In 2014, I was sent to Pelican Bay State Prison after getting into fight at New Folsom State Prison. I had scars on my right eye and I looked a mess. I felt betrayed when my peers turned against me despite the loyalty and sacrifices was worth it anymore? I began to take a good look at myself and wonder if there was a purpose for my existence? One day a friend came by and gave me an address for PREP-Turning Point (A self-help and Re-entry Program). He said he’d been taking self-help classes at this program and if I’m interested I can write to them. That was the beginning of my CHANGE.
Soon I was receiving lessons in the mail and took my time doing each lesson. I also enrolled in another correspondence class at CRIMINON WEST. Slowly, I began to feel good about myself. I felt proud and eager to sign up for more classes. Over the next few years, I became one of the group leaders for GOGI and the PEACE program. I was accepted into the R.O.C.K. (Reaching Out Convicts to Kids) program. We mentored kids from the ages of 14 to 16 who are at risk of coming to prison. I graduated from DEFY Ventures an, entrepreneurship and job readiness program. I also went on to facilitate the next cohort. I took College courses and currently I have 30 units towards a degree in Social Science. I attended AA and NA and completed a Substance Abuse Program to address my addiction with crystal meth. Currently I am a mentor in training with the OMCP (Offender Mentor Certification Program) here at Solano State Prison. Upon passing the exam and completing the internship hours, I will become a certified AOD (Alcohol & Other Drugs) counselor.
Making the decision to change my behavior has been rewarding in so many areas of my life. There was a time I thought prison is where I will be for the rest of my life. During those days my life was so dark and miserable in which I abused drugs to hide all the things I hated about myself and believed that life was wonderful until the drugs ran out. Since my recovery, I feel like I’ve been save for the second time. God had thrown me a ladder and pulled me out of the ocean. I was reminded of the time when the Italian Diesel ship rescued us from the ocean. I was given life again.
Today I want to be a person of value. I am more helpful to others and myself when I am healthy. I am eager to continue growing as a person in recovery while recognizing the challenges I face each day. I feel so much more peaceful and with clarity. I don’t have to be afraid of what others think of me anymore. I no longer need that negative acceptance to feel good about myself. I am enough. It’s such a good feeling to say it and mean it.
As for the resentment and the anger I felt towards my father, I have forgiven him. He’s had a hard life himself. He was bought and sold to different families as a child and suffered traumatic experiences during the Vietnam War. I believe these factors had a huge impact on his life and parenting skills. I also believe that he did his best considering all that he had been through.
There were moments when I felt he does love me. Our near death experience on the ocean was one of those moments that made me miss him more today. Even when he faced death, he offered his own body as a last effort to keep me and my sister alive. My father passed away 20 years ago. I still often see him in my dreams as if to let me know that he’s watching over me.
Meanwhile, I am still a work in progress. I have issues that I am working on every day like managing my anger. I also have control issues and trust issues. Maintaining my sobriety is very important in my new life. Not only is it important for me, but for the people who never gave up on me. I am forever grateful.